Page 12 of Awakened in Her Enemy's Palazzo

Her search progressed.

The chandeliers in the drawing room were lit, but it was empty too. She hobbled across to look through the French doors, but there was no tall figure outside in the moonlight.

The smaller salon was empty too.

As Grace turned to walk along the adjoining corridor, she wondered what people would say if they saw her—then laughed, because nobody was going ask her what she was doing. She didn’t work here. She wasn’t a visitor. She belonged. The palazzo was hers and she was not going to let anyone drive her out.

Because that was what he was trying to do.

She felt stupid for not realising it immediately.

The door to the smaller dining room where she normally ate was open, light spilling out, along with the sound of a piano playing a soft, heart-squeezing melody.

She pushed the door further open, taking in at a glance the half-burnt candles on the table, the bottle of wine, half full, an empty glass—this was definitely a half-empty day—and a plate.

The figure seated at the piano in the corner had his eyes closed, his fingers moving across the keys. He seemed oblivious to her presence.

The music was ineffably sad. It made Grace think of the eyes of that portrait in the study. How long had she been dead? Had her son known her? Grace had never asked, and nobody spoke about her or the circumstances of her death.

She started as the music stopped and his fingers came down with a discordant crash on the keys. The stool scraped the floor as Theo got to his feet, tall and elegant, in a black shirt open at the neck and black tailored trousers.

Grace despised herself for the quivering awareness that she felt like a dark itch under her skin. Although, in her defence, she really couldn’t see how any woman could not be sexually aware of him.

‘Are you looking for me? For food?’ One dark brow lifted to a sardonic angle. ‘Or are you here to broker a deal?’

‘I’m looking for you,’ she said, not lowering her gaze and fixing him with a steady blue stare.

‘Should you be on your feet?’ Theo asked.

They were, he noticed, bare. And the robe she was wearing was long enough to trip her up, and gave the impression she was floating. Cinched in tight at the waist, it was the same blue as her eyes.

He found himself wondering what, if anything, she had on underneath, and thought about running his fingers through the fine strands of blonde hair that fell around her face like a silky curtain, framing the oval of her face.

It was no longer a mystery why his father had left her a fortune. It was easy to see how an elderly, vulnerable man would have fallen for the combination of wide-eyed, wholesome sincerity with a core of sensuality.

He felt the sharp stab of desire, and wished he hadn’t ended things with Cleo so abruptly. He was neither elderly, nor vulnerable, but celibacy didn’t suit him. It never had.

He didn’t need a companion, he needed sex—but not with this woman.

‘Your concern is touching,’ she said, making her voice cold and refusing to be distracted by the way he was staring at her.

He pushed his hands into his pockets and sauntered towards her. She wanted to yell,Stop there!but didn’t. Because that would have meant she was scared of him—which she wasn’t.

Not of him...but maybe of the feelings he was shaking free inside her?

Turning a deaf ear to the idea,she stuck out her chin.

‘So now you’ve found me what do you want to do with me?’

The purred question sent a rush of blood to her cheeks. She mentally sidestepped the issue of what she’d like to do with him the same way she would have an unexplored bomb in her path.

‘I’ve had some phone calls from Nic.’ Despite her efforts to stay calm her voice now shook with anger.

‘You have your boyfriend well trained.’

‘Nic is the estate manager,’ she bit back.

His brow momentarily furrowed but then smoothed. ‘After my time.’

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